Box of Memories
by KilianaFelagund
Summary: Dean and Sam find another storage room of their fathers. They find a slew of old memories while they are at it, and Sam learns some very interesting things about his brother. Turns out, Sam isn't the only smart one of the family, nor the only one who was given the choice to stay or to go forever. Season 3. Rated T just because I am paranoid. Language and tiny violence in chapter 2.
1. Chapter 1

**Update: ******Hey folks, so I am officially writing another chapter that will be being posted in the next day or so: **Chapter number** **3 coming soon.*****

Cheers!

I wanted to write this for a while. Finally did. And I had a ton of fun!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters. I simply love them and enjoy writing them.

Tags: Language (its our lovely boys, and their equally lovely language...) Tag: to a little violence in a later chapter. Nothing too terrible.

So, I rewatched the chapter with the rabbits foot from Season... 3. Right! and the boys go to their father's secret storage place, and it started me thinking about whether he could have had more hidden storage rooms. So time wise this is sometime after that episode in season three but before Dean dies and I'm ignoring a bunch of the drama that happened. Brother moments will always be my favorite. Dean is a whole lot smarter then he lets on, he plays up his dumb irrational facade a lot so I wanted to write a story where Sam figures out some secrets of Dean's.

If you haven't read my story "Sam's Brother" yet - It is a Stanford era chapter story - you might check it out. Eventually, in the future, when I post all the stories I am writing, these stories will be in the same story arch.

("Um…" she started helplessly. "I have no idea who you are, I'm Jess." _Smooth Jess real smooth. Try a bit harder to sound like a jerk. _"I'm Sam's girlfriend and I am at the end of my wits. Something is wrong with him and all he is talking about is someone called Dean, so I called the only Dean in his contacts. Ya stupid." _Good Greif Jess, you sound like a moron. _"I was sorta hoping you could help. Um. Bye.") - Snippet from Sam's Brother. :)

Okay. I'm done. Enjoy the story!

~Kiliana

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><p>They emptied out one of their father's safe houses that week. After Dean's phone alerted them, via text, that someone had broken in, they rushed to the unknown location. There were boxes and guns and ammo crammed into the storage container. Sure, the lock was busted, but the thief must have fled at the very dangerous looking explosives used as decoys. Despite the pain of nostalgia, Dean had been tickled by their father's furious, bold, scrawled note.<p>

_Yes, these are live armed bombs. They are triggered by lasers. If I were you, and if you value your life, I would leave now. – Management_

Dean tapped the sign hung across the opening inside the box and nudged Sam. "Dad must've been seriously bored if he took the trouble of writing a sign."

Sam had chuckled and pulled it loose, "Who knew Dad had a sense of humor. One thing is for certain, this hidden secret storage is nothing like the other top-secret storage of his." Dean rolled his eyes and started humming mission impossible under his breath. Sam rolled his eyes – of course – so Dean dragged it out and began to mime sneaking around with a machine gun and peeking around the outside of the box until Sam thwacked the back of his head.

A quick survey confirmed that the bombs were _not _armed, and the boys moved them. Everything – meaning several curious looking boxes and a whole slew of guns and bombs – went into the car and the bothers headed to the only place they felt completely at home – Bobby's scrap yard.

They didn't talked much in the car, but at one point Dean turned off the music long enough to get Sam's attention.

"What?"

"I was thinking."

"That's dangerous Dean, especially for you."

Dean shot him the requisite Winchester eye-roll. "Shadup moron."

"Whatever. What were you thinking?"

"How many more "safe-houses" do ya s'pose Dad's got?"

"Hum. I do'no. I'll check his journal tomorrow. Although I have never seen any references to any."

"Guess I'll have to wait until the next one gets broken into and I get another text? Great."

Really there wasn't much more to say.

Bobby met them at the door and took one look at the drawn faces. "What?" he growled – as close as he got to fondness. "Dad." Sam replied and motioned to the load. "We found another safe-house. Can we borough the living room?"

Of course Bobby said yes, but only after he fed them. After dinner he helped them go through the guns and boxes. Almost everything was related to the hunt. Apparently he had inherited a bunch of stuff from a hunter he had known, Bobby knew the man's name surprised the he had given John anything, much less everything. Sam grumbled "Well that's Dad for you." And Dean merely smiled a smile that didn't touch his eyes. Sam and Bobby eyed him suspiciously but didn't ask. They didn't have too, a few minutes later they found a note in amongst the guns addressed to John.

_ Winchester, I don't have your boy's number and I don't know how to contact him since he split with you. Make sure he gets this._

Inside there was another note, this time addressed to Dean.

_Dean, you hopeless, careless, damned fool. I can't believe your audacity! But, since you so blatantly refuse to follow your kid brother, the least I can do is help you. Bloody Hell, I think I even like you. If you got this, I'm dead. I'm leaving you my stuff, journal, guns, bombs. Use it to stay alive._

_ He's going to leave you. You know that. Learn what you can before you are on your own. Whatever kid. Just don't do anything too stupid – and stop rolling your eyes at this note, I am serious._

Sam was mad as hornets. He ranted for a good ten minutes about their dad and keeping things that don't belong to him. Dean rolled his eyes and bellowed for his to shut-up. Bobby went to go get beer.

As they sorted through the guns Sam poured over their father's journal, "Ok, here, it's short but, that's Dad. – "Old man Sigan died, a box was delivered to Jim's with the location of his safe-house. That man has one hell of an impressive stash of guns. He left them to Dean – go figures – I swear that kid can get anyone to like him. For now, I'll leave them where they are – Dean can have them when he is ready to strike out on his own." Sam flipped the page and continued. "Ok, here he writes. _I used Sigan's Journal for the last hunt. Used his storage too. Moved everything to my box with a few things. Dean's not ready yet – he is still too hurt by Sam._" Sam closed the book self-consciously. "So I guess Dad actually did mean to give you the stuff after all. I guess that makes it yours."

"Okay, so let's get back to work sorting through my stuff, Samantha, unless you want to read some more fairytales."

Sam snorted, shot Dean his classic bitch-face and seized a massive book. "Fine, but I claim rights to the Latin book."

"Whatever." Dean snorted.

A while later, Dean did find one box, however, that brought him up short.

"Wow. What the Hell is this junk?" Dean exclaimed stepping back as he popped open the lid. Sam and Bobby barely looked up. Sam was certainly more interested in the monster sized Latin book, and Bobby was inspecting some guns. "Hey, here's Sam's onesie that says "Mamma's little boy" and my Mickey shirt." Dean had said tossing them aside. Sam looked up sharply at that and abandoned the book to join his brother.

"A couple of match-box cars. I though we lost those Dean." Sam help them up for inspection. "You bought me these for my eighth birthday the year Dad forgot.

Dean smiled painfully at the memory, "I guess Dad must've kept them. He got really drunk when he got home and I reminded him he had missed it. Here's your baby blanket Sam."

"That looks like a rag, Dean."

"Hell, you loved the thing. You dragged it around like Linus." Dean prodded his bother in the arm. "Even sucked on your thumb and everything." Sam snorted brushing off the jab.

"Some more of our toys."

"A couple of hair pins on a scrunchie." Bobby chuckled at that from his place on the far couch "Figured John had a thing for Doing his hair all fancy like." The boy's simply ignored him.

"Do you think it was Mom's?" Sam looked curiously to his brother's for answers.

Dean carefully schooled his features to appear disinterested. "Could've been. Maybe something that she left in the car before the fire. Hey look. Your school report cards. All A's because smarty-pants is too good for a B." Sam didn't mention the subject change, he hardly even noticed it. Dean had been doing that as long as he could remember.

"Well, maybe he would have kept your cards too if you ever bothered to make anymore then the barest passing grade." Sam retorted.

"It's not like I actually had time to study." Dean snapped stung.

"Yeah right. Dad was always gone, we had tons of time to study, what did you do with yours? Check out hot chicks?" Sam replied.

"I was too busy taking care of you Sam. I worked. Between all your needs, keeping the place clean, studying Latin, training, keeping CPS off out asses, helping Dad on hunts, patching him up when he came home bleeding or drunk, or both..! Sam I _never_ even opened my books. Never had time." Dean replied his voice sounded more resigned than hurt.

Sam gaped at him in shock. "You never studied? You made B's Dean. You always knew the answers when you helped me on my homework."

"Yeah, so sue me I have a good memory."

Sam was stunned but Dean when right back to digging in the box. "You gave up your childhood for me." Sam managed at last. Still burning a hole in Dean's cranium with his eyes.

"Drop it Sam. We've had this conversation seven times too many."

"Yeah which means we have only had it seven times." Dean smirked at Sam's bitch face.

"Hey here is your acceptance letter to Stanford."

"What he kept that?" Sam snagged the tattered scrap of paper.

"Dude, he was proud you scored a full-ride." As if that explained anything – after all, he kicked him out.

"Could've fooled me. Plus, it's in three pieces Dean. He ripped it up."

Dean motioned towards the scrap, "Yeah, so, he taped it together after you left and kept it."

Sam shrugged and grabbed the pile of papers that the letter had been with and started to thumb through it. "My essay from fourth grade where I compared you to Batman. Hah I had forgotten that – but unlike Batman, Dean is the bestest big brother ever – awe I was so cute." Dean rolled his eyes but smiled fondly anyway. Sam counted that as a win and continued. "Look, here is an essay you wrote in seventh. Wow you got an A Dean. Let's see what you wrote."

"Seriously Samantha." Dean snapped and snatched the page away. He dropped it on the far side of the table. "It's about different cars. Boring to you."

Sam snagged it back up and started reading. "Your grammar is perfect Dean. Superfluous. Undulated. Infatuated. Wow. You wrote words with over four syllables. Who know you had such an extinctive vocabulary. I'm impressed."

"Hey, you're the one who never believed that I was able to pull off the "doctor of anthropology" act." Dean replied with a mock bow.

"It's a good essay, makes me wish I knew more about cars." Sam laughed and set it aside. "Wait. This is the program for the eighth grade play I was in. Dad was on a hunt."

"He came back and made it for the second half of the show. I told him about it. He left right after and booked it back to the hunt but he was proud of you Sam." Dean's voice softened at Sam's incredulous face.

"Why didn't he tell me Dean?"

"Seriously? Dad." Well, that certainly answered it.

Sam thumbed through the next three pages without comment. "Here Dean. A report card of yours. There he kept one." He flourished the paper gustily and slapped it against Dean's chest.

For some reason Dean suddenly looked really happy as he set it by Sam's card.

"An acceptance letter from MIT." Sam looked closer and Dean's face went white. With a jump he wrestled the paper out of Sam's hand but it was too late.

"DEAN!" Sam started to his feet. "MIT! How the… Here this one is a scholarship." He waved the next page in front of Dean's face as Dean dropped to the couch with a groan.

"You were never supposed to see those." He growled. His face was equal parts pain and anger and regret, and his green eyes stood out starkly over his pale freckled face. Sam hardly registered the emotion playing in those emerald eyes as his own clouded darkly is anger and confusion.

"Why! So I wouldn't know you were smart? That you could have gone to college if you wanted? That you didn't want too?!" Sam flung his arms out wildly. "Is that why you were so mad I left? You turned down college and just expected me to too!"

In the silence that followed he almost didn't hear Dean. "No. I wanted to go." He said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"What?" Sam wasn't sure what to think, but he was still angry. "Why didn't you go? Or at least tell me?!"

"Because I _couldn't_ go to school Sam. Because I had to stay and take care of you, Sam, you were fourteen! Because I was a hunter and Dad's back-up. Because Dad told me if I walked out of him and you, he never wanted to see me again, I couldn't come back. BECAUSE WE WERE FAMILY!" Dean had gone from sitting brokenly to in Sam's face yelling. He savagely ripped the MIT paper in half and flinging rolled up at the wall, before once again dropping bonelessly on the couch.

Sam couldn't move, he felt like he was drowning. "You, you stayed for me?" he gasped at last sucking in a gasp of air that left him reeling.

"Yeah." Dean sighed running a hand over his face.

"Is that why you dropped out of high school?"

"Dude, I realized I would never be able to go to college so I figured high school was a waste."

Sam was silent for a while more and absently thumbed through the rest of the papers. His ACT 35 was in there from freshman year. Dean had one too. It was a 34, and apparently he never studied. Sam's eyes went wide.

"34 ACT Dean!"

"Yeah, so what!" Dean didn't look up.

Sam dropped the papers and sat down beside Dean. They were perfectly silent for five minutes, neither one particularly angry anymore, just silent.

"I'm sorry." He said bumping his shoulder into Dean's.

"For what? That I didn't get to go to school? What the hell does it matter? I would have probably dropped out before the first year was over anyway." Dean sounded like he didn't care, but Sam knew better. Dean's happiness over Dad having kept his report card, his scores despite never having studied, the ACT, the fact he _applied_ and got an acceptance letter – Dean wouldn't have dropped out. Sam bit his lip.

"I'm sorry I left and went to Stanford after you sacrificed MIT for me." Sam replied.

Dean glared at him. "Shut-up. You are getting way to touchy-feely now, princess." He jostled Sam's shoulder anyway before standing up and going back to the box.

"Any other secrets to be let out in those papers?" he growled.

"Dean."

"What?"

"You're what?"

"Seriously. Here give me those." He snagged the stack and flipped through them.

"Essay. Essay. Report. Test – Sammy got an A, surprise. Dean's D, failed." The pages fluttered to the ground as he went. "Essay, test, here Sam, another one of your plays." Dean dropped the pile. "Leave it." He snapped as Sam's hand drifted to it. Sam dropped it. It wasn't like there could possibly be more secrets bigger then MIT.

"Hah. Dad actually had books?" Sam laughed flipping one over. "Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen. I just can't see Dad reading something like that." He dropped it by the papers and kept digging. At the bottom there was a photo frame with a very good child's drawing of a house and field and the sun setting. It was clearly a crayon drawing but Sam was impressed, who ever had done it was talented. "Is this yours?"

"Hum? Oh ya, I was helping you on your art class in second grade remember. I used your crayons because Dad never got us some. I'm surprised he kept it, it's terrible."

Sam disagreed, so he walked over and set it on the mantle by Bobby's things. If Dean noticed he didn't say anything.

"So, you could've gone to MIT and you're an amazing artist who was never given a chance – anything else you wanna tell me?"

"I sing opera."

"Dean!"

"What? Shadup already. There's nothing else in here." Dean dumped everything back into the box, gathered up the papers, slid them down the side, and closed the lid.

Sammy crossed his arms in frustration at his brother. "Well, since that covers everything. I'm gonna go give my baby a tune up. Behave yourself while I'm gone, Sammy."

"Whatever Jerk."

"Laaaay-der Bitch." Dean saluted him rather inappropriately and sauntered out.

"Seriously! MIT, Bobby."

Bobby barely looked up "I always said John ruined every chance that boy had of living a normal life." He offered casually. Sam frowned but retrieved the Latin book and setting down in the library with a huff.

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><p>Until Chapter 2!<p>

Leave me reviews, lovies! writes love them, muses crave them, and they only take a minute. Spare me a minute. :)

thanks

~Kiliana.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two is here. :)

I have to add a stronger tag for swearing her because John Winchester has a filthy mouth when he is drunk. :/ (but I did go back through and tone it down without ruining the reality of it...)

Here you go. the second half of the story. :) sorry it took so long. I had finals for some of my classes and them I went out of town, but my muse is screaming at me...

Enjoy lovies!

~Kiliana

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><p>Sam looked at the box thoughtfully. He couldn't sleep, and with Dean sawing logs in the other guest bed, Sam figured now was as good a time as any to finish looking through the papers.<p>

Reverently Sam picked the crumpled tatters of paper of the floor. With gently fingers he smoothed them out, his finger lingering on Dean's name. _All of this could have been his, but for me. He stayed for me, sacrificed his chance at normality. I don't deserve such a brother._ Carefully he taped the MIT letter back together. There was a sad sort of poetry to the fact that both of their acceptance letters had been torn, crumpled, and taped, to be carefully saved as a bittersweet memory. Not that he would ever tell Dean that, he would probably be called a pansy for his troubles.

All the important papers were going to be piled with the letters. The ACT scores made it to the pile. Dean's report card (that surprise, surprise had an A on it) as well as Sam's card (with nothing but A's… as if there would be anything else) made the pile as well.

Sam thumbed through the stack. Dean as an award for best model engine. Sam grinned – apparently it had worked as well as looked impressive (although the bad mark meant it was probably not appropriate...figures) which was probably not a skill that normal seventh graders could boast.

Sam had won the student chess competition in eighth grade. Against high-schoolers by the way. He grinned. Dean had drawn all over the award program in obvious boredom before presumably giving it to their father later. Sam spun the program around observing Dean's very skillful doodles of cars and girls and a very good cartoon rendition of the very old ugly chess coach/math teacher who really did have that gargantuan nose in real life too.

Sam found another essay of Dean's written on the reasons why little brothers should not exist. He was conflicted over whether he should be impressed by the quality or severely insulted until he got to the last line "Despite the obvious shortcomings and overwhelming evidence that little brothers should all be thrown out in the garbage or zapped into nonexistence, I am thankful for my own little brat and wouldn't get rid of him for all the girls world." Sam definitely added that to the important papers pile. How completely Dean – even in fifth grade.

Sam got to the bottom of the original stack before he found a very rumpled well fingered piece of paper. The stains on it smelled like they had been Jim Beam before it sat in a box for years.

It was the freshman year surprise IQ quiz that he remembered taking. Only this one had Dean's name at the top, not his. _As if Dean would ever willing sit still long enough to ta-_

141

Sam's jaw dropped. Bloody freaking 141! Sam had scored what, a 132.

Sam rubbed his eyes but the number didn't change. His brother was a genius. Mister "I hate research! – you haven't done any yet, Dean – duh, cause I hate it." "Dude? You're asking me? – YES! Dean, you were with Dad for years, did you learn anything? – Umm… don't piss off the husband. – Shut-up, Jerk!" "You stay here responsibly and do research – while you do what? Drink beer, hustle pool, and hit on ladies – yep. Hey, live it up while you can." Well, His brother's talent at poker and pool certainly made a lot of sense.

Suddenly every other conversation they had ever had rang through his head. "It's an EMF meter Sam – why does it look like an old trashed Walkman? – Cause that's what I made it out of (duh, doesn't everyone do that with their old Walkmans?)" "I'm bored Sammy – do my Sudoku and leave me alone, Jerk – I already finished your Sudoku book – I just bought that yesterday, Dean – whatever bitch, let's watch a movie." "It's a pattern Sam – What? Where? – There Sam, geez you're thick." "Sam let's go, breakfast time! – What happened to the Rubik's cube that boy gave us – catch sweetheart, there, happy? – You solved it? Last night? Did you sleep? – Geez, yes, let's go already, Sasquatch."

Sam ran a hand over his face wincing at a sudden headache and was suddenly plunged into what might have been a vision, though he guessed it was a memory when he saw his father.

Dean's backpack was open on the table and John was hunched over his folder. In one hand was a bottle of Jim Bean, from which he was drinking quite heavily. In the other was Dean's IQ test report.

Sam's vision unexpectedly snapped back a bit to Dad on the phone. "What do you mean you want to skip him forward a grade? He's a terrible student, he hates school, and his grades suck! – you want to skip freshman year because of a stupid IQ test – Yes I heard you, one-hundred forty-one – no I don't understand." Sam watched his Dad's face go white and he sunk bonelessly into a chair at the table. "Average score is 94 to 104 yeah I heard – I – I understand – thank you, I will think about it." Dad snapped the phone shut and stared at the wall. "A genius, a bloody genius who gets all C's and D's and fails half his classes!" Dad only moved to grab the Jim Bean and Dean backpack where Dean had dropped it before heading out for his thirteen mile run.

Sam's vision snapped forwards this time and he watched as Dean pushed open the door and headed for the weapon's bag. He knew without asking that Dad would need them cleaned after this last hunt. Dad dragged himself drunkenly from the kitchen and watched Dean effortlessly field-strip and clean the guns. He interrupted him halfway through by grabbing his t-shirt and hauling him to his feet.

"You care'da splain yo'self." He slurred waving the paper in front of Dean.

"It's a piece of paper, Dad. Just a stupid test that wasn't all that hard." Dean replied intimidated by his father but hiding it well.

"Teachers callin me." Dad continued glaring at his son.

Dean's face paled slightly. "Isss an IQ test, and you're a genius Dean. You're IQ is higher den 99 percent of da humans." So, John wasn't too drunk to remember what he had been told. "An'ow they 'spect you now, yo're too smart for get D's. You and your fukin' D's. What yo'wanna look like an idit? They wannnnna take you to a smart people school." Sam knew what he meant. When anyone got over a 135 they were considered a genius and the Winchesters weren't supposed to bring attention to themselves. Dean didn't put any brains or effort into his work beyond what was needed to barely pass. His teachers wanted to have him tested for learning disabilities to he could "Rise to his full potential" was the usual jargon.

Freshman Dean's face paled even more. "I didn't know what it meant sir, I didn't mean to get us in trouble, the test was easy, patterns and such, I just did it 'cause I was bored and the teacher wouldn't let me leave." He whispered in explanation but his eyes were starting to glow with pride. That pride was snuffed out ruthlessly the next moment when John's fist met the side of his face and sent him sprawling across the floor into the drywall. Sam felt himself jump, anger blazing. John had never laid hands on his sons outside of training. But now – he beat Dean until he could hardly move and was spitting blood. Fists, bottle, belt, it didn't matter. He beat Dean until he was curled in on himself whimpering. Blood trickled sluggishly from his scalp bruises bloomed across his face. John beat his son senseless.

Sam's blood ran cold.

He started out of the vision with a strangled shout and reeled into the bathroom where he puked his guts out. Dad had never hit them. Never physically punished them outside of training. And he had beaten Dean almost to death for being a genius. No wonder Dean never told him, it was a curse, not a blessing. He had been taught to be ashamed of it. Play idiot for more reasons than one: being a genius gets you hurt, plus, it's easier to beat the bad guys if they think you are dumb. But Sam? Why lie to Sam?

Sam rested his head on his arms willing the image of his father belting his brother out of his mind. And Dean hadn't even tried to protect himself. He had merely taken the punishment without a word.

Sam was sick again.

He finally hefted himself to his feet and rinsed out his mouth. Just as someone tapped on the bathroom door.

"Sam?" his brother's groggy voice slurred through the inch and a half of painted wood.

"Dean." He responded trying to keep the cold anger out of his voice.

"You kay? …I heard you hurling." If Dean had snored in between the question and the statement, Sam would not have been surprised.

"You're supposed to be asleep." Sam replied wearily. He wasn't sure he could face his brother without breaking down at the moment and he was pretty certain Dean wouldn't be happy with what Sam had just witnessed.

"Dude, what's wrong? Nightmare?" Dean suddenly sounded substantially more awake. Sam almost wanted to be sick again. Could he _not_ do that? Was it even _possible_ for Dean _NOT_ to worry over him?

"You could say that. But more of a memory." Sam replied, it wasn't a lie after all. He sighed, "No, I don't want to talk about, no you can't help, go back to bed Dean."

He heard Dean sigh. There was a soft thump that sounded like Dean's head against the door frame. "Alright. But I'm coming back if you aren't in bed in fifteen minutes."

Sam snorted. As if Dean would stay awake that long.

"You sure you're okay?" _Yes Dean, go away before I smash through the door and wring your neck for staying so loyal to and never leaving Dad. Or maybe I'll just smash it in for being a hardass genius. _Since neither of those options seemed very promising or smart – and since he could basically feel the tension building in his brother – Sam settled for the approach that was least likely to have Dean breaking down the door to figure out what was wrong: he resorted to sarcasm.

"Watch out Dean, you're in danger of throwing yourself into a full-blown heat-of-the-moment Disney-princess-love-songs chick-flick moment." Sam teased feeling some of the tension seep out simply at the normalcy of the moment. Dean was here. Dean was safe. Dean was, well, Dean (which meant Sam was safe too, by the way.)

"Whatever, drama queen. You're fine." Dean retorted and went away. Sam could hear him stumble into the wall, and the other wall, and the door, on his way back to their room. Yeah, sure he was going to stay awake for fifteen bloody minutes.

Sam, finished washing his face and then slipped back into the living room to return the scattered papers to the box. Before he turned to go, something caught his eye. He lifted the two books out of the box. Turning Jane Austen over in his hands and opening the front cover, he confirmed his curiosity from earlier – property of: Mary Winchester. It was his mother's. The simple joy of holding something of hers washed over him easing the horror of his latest vision away.

The other book wasn't a book at all, it was a photo album. So Sam put Austen back, closed the lid, and hid the photo album in his coat to smuggle back to his room. Just in case Dean really was awake.

He was.

"Dude. Fourteen minutes thirty-seven seconds. You're pushing your luck."

"Whatever jerk.' Sam retorted stowing the jacket wrapped book in his duffle and flopping on his bed. In the faint moonlight coming through the curtains he could make out Dean's profile on the other bed.

"Night Bitch." Dean shot him accompanied by a very inappropriate left-handed one-fingered salute that was just as easy to see as his profile.

Sam grinned and closed his eyes. Whoever invented big brothers needed to be _shot_! – And then they needed to be awarded the highest honor in the universe, but they certainly deserved to he shot first…

_...maybe twice._

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><p>The next night, Sam was glad he had kept the photo album out of the box. First thing that morning, Dean and Sam had hauled the boxes up a rickety ladder (to which Sam moaned that if Bobby wanted them dead, there were better ways) to Bobby's attic. Sam really didn't want to climb that ladder ever again much less in the dark. Instead he slipped out of bed and padded out to the kitchen.<p>

Turning on one light he settled down at the table and opened the first page.

_Dear John._

_I love you. I love you so much. I thank God every day that you are in my life. Don't ever forget that._

_Love Mary. _

The note was sweet and simple and situated directly over a picture from their wedding. Sam touched the picture reverently. Their mother was exquisite. Gentle blonde curls, bright green eyes, megawatt smile – now who did that remind him of…

A few pages later, Mary had been captured staring raptly at a beautiful infant in her arms, his flawless face was screwed innocently in a tiny yawn and his fists were flailing wildly at his mother's face. _Dean-o my angel. _Mary had written in at the top of the page.

Sam flipped to the next. John was holding Dean and looked like he was about to burst with pride. Sam grinned. His father was so young in that picture, he looked like a boy. He was so happy.

"Dude, what the Hell are you doing in the kitchen at three in the morning?" Dean's voice startled Sam from the living room.

Sam looked at his brother innocently. "Man, you were one cute baby, too bad it wore off."

Dean frowned and walked around behind Sam's chair full of curiosity at what Sam was holding. "What is that?"

"One of the books we found was a photo album. See you're adorable." Sam pointed at the baby.

"Thank you Sam, I know that. But, what do you think about the picture?" Dean retorted without out missing a beat, he tossed in his patented smirk for good measure.

"Whatever. Here look you're being spoon fed. Who knew it was even possible."

Dean's eyes misted over as Sam watched him – he had been expecting a stupid comeback but instead Dean just smiled. "Mom." He whispered and slipped into the chair beside Sam. "Look at her Sam."

Sam's eyes were burning now too and he blinked back tears. Dean, like never, softened for anything and here he was about to cry over a picture of his mother. There was a lump in Sam's throat as he handed over the album. Dean took it wordlessly and turned the next page.

"WOW! Tmi tmi!" Sam laughed at the picture of naked baby Dean in the bath. Dean chuckled and swatted his brother playfully. "Yeah, well think of all those times I gave _you_ a bath and do us both a favor and shut-up."

Sam huffed crossing his arms. Dean flipped the page. Dean was toddling to Daddy. His million watt grin had never changed.

There was a close up of him smiling, but his innocent-looking-misery-making-lady-heart-breaking-catch-me-if-you-can-you-suckers!-green eyes – no, really! They were that even at one year old apparently – were plotting mischief.

"Dude, anyone who knows you would never doubt that was you." Sam laughed.

Freckle-face baby Dean was being cute – ok so Dean was always being cute (not that Sam would EVER tell him that) – but these were pictures of Dean being especially cute.

On the next page, Sam was overcome by a wash of emotions. Mostly sorrow and regret. This was the side of Dean he would never know. The side of Dean that lived for the sake of living and being loved and taken care of. This was Dean happy. Dean with no everlasting darkness hidden behind his old weary eyes. Dean who didn't carry a gun. Dean who laughed for no reason. This was Dean with no Sammy. This was Dean with his Mommy. Suddenly Sam knew what Dean had lost. Suddenly Sam understood his brother.

It was a picture. Dean looked about four. He had his arms locked around Mary's neck, their cheeks were smashed together. He had crayons in his hands and cookie dough in his hair. His grin was infectious and Mary was laughing – and – Mary was pregnant. Dean gulped and sighed. "She is beautiful Sammy."

"She looks so happy." Sam murmured mesmerized. Dean grinned wryly.

They flipped the page and "WOW! TMI TMI!" Dean squealed in delight until Sam snatched the book and shoved him roughly out of his chair. It was Sam, newborn, pink and wet, and naked as a Jay bird.

Dean was still laughing when he got up. Sam turned on his patented bitch-face and turned the page.

The next page displayed Mary, the newborn Sam, and Dean hanging half off the bed as he endeavored valiantly to get on. The other picture on the page had him crowding into Mary's lap and pushing the inconveniently placed baby to the side. Finally there was one with the three of them happily situated and smiling – well everyone but Sam who was wailing because apparently even at two hours old he was mad at his brother for pushing him around – "the brat."

Then there was a picture of the mischief maker and his latest follower. Dean's feet didn't reach the edge of the seat. His sneakers just stuck straight out. Sam was curled in his arms and had a firm grip of his t-shirt collar. Vibrant green eyes twinkled mischievously at the camera while puppy-dog brown eyes pleaded perfect innocence – yes even at three months and he was already playing the puppy-dog card to get out of Dean's horrible ideas. Dean with his baby brother in his arms, was grinning so hard his face looked like it was about to split down the middle.

"Wow, what a shocker, you had long floppy hair dude." Sam laughed softly. He was momentarily overcome by a completely ridiculous, embarrassing desire to climb into Dean's lap to see if they could return to the way it had been. Okay, Dean would definitely kill him if he did that – provided he did it first before Sam offed himself for the same reason.

"Notice that I cut it." Dean retorted. "I wised up." It was a great thing that Dean couldn't read minds.

"Does your hair really curl like that?" Sam pointed at the loose blonde waves.

"Yes, I have the perfect hair, Sam. I have the perfect everything." Dean dead-panned.

"Uh Huh. Sure you do." Sam flipped the page. "That's it. There are no more pictures."

"Well given that the world ended four months later," there was a hit at anguish in his voice for half a second, "I think we can overlook that. Now, go to bed."

"Sheesh. Bossy much." Sam whined. "There is a note in here." Sam drew it out from between the last few empty pages.

_John. _

_I realize this is a sorrowful time for you. I am so sorry for your loss. I am so sorry for your sons. I wanted to do something and I remembered this. Our last woman's night was scrapbook night and the ladies brought their scrapbook to work on. We never actually got around to it because we spent the whole time chatting, but Mary left this behind. Fire destroys everything and I realize you must not have much left. Here are some memories preserved by the angels from the ashes. Call us if you need help. We are praying for you and your sons. _

_Love and condolences: Margaret Midica_

Sam stared at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes. "Mystery solved." He snarked casually. If Sam hadn't known him as well as he did he would have missed the flash of sorrow flicker across his. But, no, if there was anything Sam knew, it was how to read his brother.

Neither of the boys saw the Bobby-shaped shadow in the living room slip back into the master room a sad smile on his face, he was the only other person who could read the older Winchester. Moments later, Dean stood up and headed for his room. "Come on, Sam. Bedtime."

Sam remained where he was even after Dean had left and twisted the note between his fingers.

His eyes lingered on the book. He had always felt cheated. _Why didn't I know mom. Why can't I have any memories? Why was I cheated of that childhood? _Now he understood. Dean's memories were a constant source of agonizing sorrow as well as bitter-sweet joy. Dean did understand what it was like to watch your whole life ripped away and burned on the ceiling. Sam had Jessica – Dean had mom. How long must he had been plagued by similar nightmares to Sam? Only, he had been four with no big brother of his own to chase away the pain. Once again – for the zillionth time perhaps – Sam was struck by just how tough Dean's shell must be to hold in all the pain he must have built up.

Sam returned the note to the pages and set the book beside Dean's crayon drawing on the mantle. He slipped into the room saying nothing to Dean's perfectly still form. Although he doubted he was asleep – it would have been chick-flicky… still an "I'm sorry I have been an insensitive idiot my whole life without understanding you. Sorry you've had to carry all my crap, and dad's ton of crap, and your crap too since you were four years old. I'm sorry for leaving you, like mom left you, like Dad left you. I'm sorry." seemed necessary – Dean would probably just freak out hit him for being a girl – so not necessary?..

After a few minutes of Sam quietly pondering whether he should open his big mouth and cram in his foot or not, Dean shifted slightly and broke the silence. "Hey Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Naw, it's Sammy, always will be dude. I raised you, I get to call you whatever I want. And thanks." His voice had flipped from flippant to sincere so fast Sam's mind reeled.

"For what?" He asked confused.

"For reminding me about all the good stuff." His voice graveled deeper than usual with choked back emotion.

Sam blinked back the burning sensation in his eyes again. "Sure no problem man."

"Night Sammy."

"Night Dean-o"

Fin

* * *

><p>I have to clarify. in my own personal canon, John Winchester is a good guy. He struggles to raise his two children as a single parent while working what basically is a full-time and a half job. He is a little blinded by the loss of Mary, but still he is doing his best.<p>

That said. the way this story flows is absolutely perfect for the feel and why Dean is a genius and never shows it, playing the idiot. This would be the only time John ever physically hurt his son, and since he obviously kept all their stuff and treasured it (including Dean's IQ test) he does love them. Getting blind drunk is not the answer to life's problems...

And I am love Bobby, he is so good to the boys, so of course I had to slip him in there.

Thank you so much!

Review my dears, review! spare me a moment of your time for the hours of mine that created this and let me know how you like (or hate) it.

~Kiliana


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